


Sincerely, Your Tommy

by TheSilentFury



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Death, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, How Do I Tag, Song fic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), first fic, the song is fan made by me and another person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28577028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilentFury/pseuds/TheSilentFury
Summary: You sent me awayLeft me to rotThis isn’t the first timeThat I’ve been shotI hate that I miss you
Comments: 1
Kudos: 78





	Sincerely, Your Tommy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plxtonixmm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plxtonixmm/gifts).



> First fic, uhhh the song is one that a friend and I wrote, this fic is a gift for them soooooo, enjoy???

_I was your Tommy_

_And you were my Tubbo_

_I thought that we’d be friends forever_

_But you lied_

_And left me here to die_

Cold, cold, cold was the night time sky air. It leaked into his worn shirt sending ice trickling down his spine. He hadn’t been out in the open for long but he was already craving the warmth that he couldn’t have. Tommy stared straight ahead at the open world with the same chilling loneliness creeping in on his soul. He wanted Tubbo, he wanted his friend. Tommy’s breath catches in his throat as memories -- ones that felt so far, yet happened so recently -- flashed across his eyes.

_I should have known that_

_you’re standing with the ram_

_I see you in my mind’s eye_

_But the images are bland_

_The look upon your face_

_One I don’t recognize_

_If you’re not the villain_

_I’m Theseus, aren’t I_

He remembered the explosions of the festival, of his brother — Technoblade — summoning the Wither, of Wilbur's suicide via Philza — his father. He could see every single moment after the Manburg war, of Tubbo becoming the president, of meeting Ranboo, of his burning the roof of George’s house down, of being exiled a second time (his best friend did it, Tubbo exiled him, why did he do that why). Dream was the only one who knew where he was at first, he had visitors too. But they didn’t come to his party, and people stopped visiting (his dad never came to visit him, too busy with Technoblade to check in on his youngest, a child, a kid who just wanted his-). One sentence burned into his mind as he saw Tubbo exiling him, of being Theseus, of being a hero.

_You sent me away_

_Left me to rot_

_This isn’t the first time_

_That I’ve been shot_

_I hate that I miss you_

_But you follow the lime_

Tommy’s face was wet, when did it become wet? A pale, shaky hand drifted to his face and gently touched his drenched cheeks. Tears. Tommy was crying. He didn’t think he had any tears left to cry. He had cried plenty as a child, when his parents left, cried plenty when Techno when to Hypixel, when Philza went to his hardcore world and left him with Wilbur. A choked laugh left his trembling mouth, lips tinted blue. Of course he would cry when Tubbo finally left because he was never able to cry for Wilbur, he was too shocked to react and Ghostbur appeared too quickly for him to truly comprehend his big brother's death.

His big brother.

Wilbur has all the bright ideas, and Tommy has always followed in his footsteps.

_It's time for me to go_

_The lava is calling_

_Feels like I’m on death row_

_Sincerely, your Tommy_

_I thought I was your Tommy_

_Sincerely, your Tommy_

_I thought I was your Tommy_

Tommy was cold, so so cold. He wanted to be warm, where could he be warm? A brief memory of when he was last in the Nether, of how warm it was and how lovely the lava had looked. It beckoned him even as Dream had kicked him down, painting his sides and cheek shade of black, purple, and yellow. It sounded so nice, having the burning warmth of the lava warming his bones, of the last thing he feels being heat and warmth instead of the chilling air and heavy loneliness. Starkly white fingers grab and compass, tracings the words carved into the back with numb fingers.

He had decided.

And pulled out a piece of paper.

Sorry Tubbo, maybe next time?


End file.
